


Venus in Chains

by Thalaba



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: AU universe, Bloodplay, Dubious Consent, Explicit Language, F/M, Medical Conditions, Medical Kink, Mirror Universe, Pussy Worship, SHIP DARCY WITH ALL THE THINGS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 03:04:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3192887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thalaba/pseuds/Thalaba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darcy Lewis had to admit the situation didn't look good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Venus in Chains

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [He's Guilty As Can Be](https://archiveofourown.org/works/432643) by [Chaerring](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaerring/pseuds/Chaerring). 



With arms stretched above her head, ultra-shiny wrist manacles pulled taut to match the considerably looser ones encircling each petite ankle, and not a stitch of fabric to cover the ample assets between said ankles and the chilled softness of her bared tummy, Darcy Lewis had to admit the situation didn't look good.

There was a bright white light hanging overhead, industrial, that would make any sensible being think of interrogation cells or pinned insects--which, Darcy thought, was so fucking apt it was scary. This light, however, was not a blinding glare into her beautiful baby blues, oh no, (and here's where things got really weird) this white beam was centered directly over her lady parts, illuminating fleshy thighs and a hairless cunt to the gaze of one Doctor Bruce Banner. One convicted serial killer Bruce Banner. Sure, she helps bust him out of jail and suddenly she owes **him** a favour? But if Darcy wanted the tracking device the Avengers so solicitously put in to her out of her this was the only way around it.

The stainless steel jewelry had been decided upon for her own protection--Darcy was positive Bruce just wanted to see someone else in chains after enduring it for months himself--since no one wanted her making any unexpected movements when the scalpel went to work. It would mean paying out insurance money to her next of kin should anything say lethal happen, which meant bothering Pepper Potts, and no one wanted to bother Pepper Potts.

"Nice coat." Fuck, Darcy really wished that sounded more nonchalant and not so mouse-like. Mouse? Butterfly. She needed to keep her metaphors organized. The white labcoat, glasses, and gleaming metal implements of possible torture were quite the turnaround from the prison issue jumper and nothing else she'd first seen him wearing. _Nope. Also chains. A fucking shitload of chains._ Why had she compared him to a puppy again? Oh right. The eyes. Those big brown eyes just under that fluffy mop of hair. Eyes that hadn't strayed far from her body since entering the lab and seeing the position Stark's minion/nurse had left her in. _"Who did this to you?" "Gerda? Brunhilda? Could have been a Roxanne. She wasn't much for small talk, more of a wham bam take your pants off kind of deal. She wore an Iron Man pin if that helps. I mean, I assume that's how you all keep track of who works for who." "Did you want a pin?" "Let's see how this works out and then you can think about buying me something pretty, kay?"_  

That had been a while ago. After grabbing some sort of surgical thingy meant to make her bleed, Bruce had just continued to stare. (She called him Bruce because saving someone from life imprisonment was kind of a bonding moment, and it freaked out his other lackeys. He called her Miss Lewis because for some reason it sounded absolutely obscene coming out of his mouth. Or so it sounded to Darcy whose stupid face had to go and stupid blush until Doc had made the connection and now wouldn't stop. Not like she could have stopped him.)

"Thanks. You have extraordinary legs Miss Lewis."

There were those words again.

Darcy shrugged as much as she was able, mostly a jostling of her torso which was thankfully covered by her own overly large forgettable blue sweater, and tried to pretend her lower bits weren't on hyper-display.

"Meh. They get me from point A to point B."

"Of course. Now, why again are you waxed? Did Brunhilda do that also?"

Darcy's mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

"Ummm....Nope. That was Kevin."

"Kevin."

"Yep. Did it before the tracking device was put in." Darcy had **not** signed on to be cut open and used as a human GPS, but that's what happened when you didn't read the fine print.

"Kevin." Darcy quirked an eyebrow and tried to look down through the white light. That tone hadn't sounded promising.

"Just some dude that Stark said was a genius, but I was really more concerned with what they were going to put into my thigh to ask for a proper introduction."

"Tony watched 'some dude' wax you clean?" Yeah, that had been hella awkward. Darcy swallowed, not wanting to dwell on the embarrassment. 

"My contract was with him at the time."

"Not anymore."

Bruce pressed something below the vicinity of her feet and--Holy fuck, the table was splitting in two! With a full on gurgling scream ready, Darcy barely had a _What the fuckity fuck!_ out before the apparent contraption from hell stopped and the Doctor walked between her uncomfortably spread legs. "I'm not a damn gymnast!" Darcy's eyes bulged. Technically there wasn't any pain; she'd run track in high school and knew how to stretch. But Holy Crow, _everything_ felt open.

And Bruce. Just. Stared.

OK, she had to not freak out. Any minute now Darcy was going to stop freaking out and look away from the very sharp scalpel that was in the serial killer's hand. _Benefit of the doubt time, Mouse? Bruce totally didn't slice open two hundred people. The Other Guy totally smashed two hundred people. Bruce only killed like...fifteen at last count?_ Wow, that line of thought was actually helping. Because out of all those people Darcy hadn't been one. And she could have been! Seriously, Doc had been really protective during the whole ka-BOOM prison break, and played Tony Stark like a fiddle demanding a change in her contract. She hadn't been **that** creeped out by the impromptu hair sniffing, and given that all Jane cared about now was boinking Thor and becoming the next Queen of Asgard--Oh, now Darcy was sad again.

"Bruce, I know you won't hurt me, so let's get this gizmo out and go have a beer, kay?"

She'd shocked him. Or struck him blind given how much he was currently blinking.

"What was that?" He began pinching her thigh but, because of the big needle Brunhilda had jabbed her with, Darcy couldn't feel a thing in her left leg. She exhaled and looked him in the eye.

"I trust you Bruce."

All motion seemed to stop in that one moment. And it _was_ only a moment, not the hours Darcy felt as his brown eyes got even darker and his gaze burned. 

"You can't feel anything?" he asked suddenly, popping out of a Jello mold orwherever he'd just been. Darcy snorted.

"Oh I feel lots, just not in that leg--OW!" Darcy jumped, figuratively speaking, and glared as Bruce trailed his thick scientist fingers over the flesh he'd twisted on her right leg. "I bruise easily!"

"Yes. Will I proceed."

It wasn't a question, and the scalpel had been raised just so to catch the light, like a super diabolical wink, and Darcy had a weird feeling that Bruce wasn't talking to her. The blade? Himself?

"It shouldn't take long," she tried to sound conversational when Doc pushed up his glasses and leaned down so very close to other parts that hadn't been numbed out either. "It didn't take long to go in." His hand slapped unexpectedly down on her working thigh with a heavy possessive squeeze, and while it inevitably spread her further, Darcy felt embarrassment flush her cheeks as some parts seemed to automatically clench on emptiness right under his nose. _Oh sweet zombie Jesus._  

"Yes, I think I see it. A tiny thing for such a big job."

Wait. What?

Darcy didn't want to chance seeing her own blood but it was a knee jerk reaction to look up at the metal clatter--annnnd apparently Bruce didn't need his glasses anymore. "We done?" Damn squeak. There wasn't a response, only Doc's head disappearing. 

"Is this really happening?"

_...Shit did I just say that out loud!?!_

There was some sort of pressure-pull on her pseudo-phantom limb, but who could think about that when there was a clearly definable touch on more sensitive areas.

"Oh! Umm--" Darcy's fingers clutched at her chains as an aroused grunt escaped her throat. "Bruce. Doctor Banner. We re- _AH_ -ly don't have _Mmmm_ to do this." Yeah they totally did. Maybe there had been a point of no return somewhere between being chained down and 'I trust you Bruce' but that train had clearly left the station and Doc--Oh! The Doc had skills.

And these days it was nice to feel pleasure.

"Bruce." She bit her bottom lip on a fractured groan, hips barely able to arch but trying their darnest to convey..."Fuck don't stop. Touch--Oh!" She gasped and reveled in the thick thrust and pull of more fingers than expected, red heat infusing her cheeks and _ohgodohgodohgod_ running on repeat in her head. And speaking of head, it was as hot as hell watching Doc's bob up and down between her thighs; the sound of slick lips and tongue and-and-and maybe if the endorphins weren't exploding through her like fireworks Darcy would have wondered why she couldn't feel **that** talented wet muscle. No complaints though. Not when Bruce clearly could have drawn a map of the female pleasure trap blindfolded. Her eyes clenched tight along with everything else.

 Her considerable chest fell hard and rose with a huff as Darcy fought the good fight in learning how to breathe again, shuddering as Bruce's digits slid free of her body. She blinked, startled, and quickly fucking offended at the sound of spitting. "What the fuck Bruce!"--but then came the metallic _clink_.

"Have something to say to me Miss Lewis?"

Darcy gaped, silenced at the sight of Doc's fingers coated with her cream and brought to his mouth. A mouth slick red with blood. The bed pan in his free hand undoubtedly held the little bit of tracking machinery that...that Bruce had just sucked out of her thigh.

Right. Sometime friend and terror of Tony Stark. Right.

A giggle escaped before she could clamp down on it.

"Got any pants?"

**Author's Note:**

> This short piece (that I thought had been posted over on LJ) was inspired by a lovely WIP that I can no longer find either. I don't own anything except for the smut.


End file.
